Nightmares of you
by hetalia131
Summary: A short (very short) fluffy Fruk fanfic. I don't usually ship this pairing but I had an urge. France has a nightmare in which he finds Joanne of arcs grave.


**I'm sorry that this is so short. I didn't want to ruin it by stretching it out too far.**

**Translations:**

**Que Dieu apporte la paix à votre âme, ma chérie: May God bring peace to your soul, my dear**

**Angleterra: England**

**Je t'aime: I love you**

**Jamais: Never**

* * *

The graveyard was silent it was deafening. The ground was covered in white roses, so many that you couldn't actually see the ground anymore. Amongst the flowers, were hundreds and hundreds of wooden crosses sticking up out of the ground. The were all completely bare apart from one. It was taller and made of stone rather than wood; it had a silver cross necklace hanging from the centre of the cross. This particular cross seemed to attract France's attention. He didn't know where he was or how he got here, but everything seemed... familiar. He slowly wandered over to the cross and began to study its features. It looked new compared to all of the others, with small yet beautiful carvings of angels holding swords around the edges. Beneath the cross was a large stone slab with the words 'Que Dieu apporte la paix à votre âme, ma chérie' carved into it. Beneath this was another angel, but it was different from the others. It was a beautiful woman with shoulder length hair tied in a ribbon and eyes that took even the Frenchman's breath away. She wore a full body of armour with a long cape, she reminded him of... France gasped at the recognition. It was her, he could practically see her blue eyes sparkling, even on the colourless slab. This was her grave. subconsciously, his skilled fingers slipped beneath the slab, pulling it away to reveal a wooden coffin that really shouldn't have been there. With trembling hands, he slowly lifted the lid of the coffin. His eyes widened at what he saw. The body looked as if it had just been layed there, the clothes it wore were crisp; this wasn't what shocked him. It... wasn't her. Inside the coffin, emerald eyes half-lidded, arms crossed over his chest, was Britain. Still in shock, France staggered back a few steps. Britain... he was... this couldn't be true, this had to be a joke! Shock was replaced with anger as France considered the possibility.

"What kind of sick joke is this?!" France yelled into the coffin. Britain's eyelids twitched slightly before slowly opening, as if waking from a pleasant sleep. He looked up and France saw the reflection of flames in his eyes, flames and thick wooden mast. Noticing France's presence, the Brit met his gaze... and smiled. France didn't know what happened after that, but suddenly his hands were clamped around Britain's throat. He cried out in pain and began to claw desperately at his neck, his eyes widening in shock and fear, the flames in his eyes burning more brightly than before.

"What am I doing?" France thought, still trying to get his head around the situation. He tried to stop, tried to undo his own grip, but his hands refused and got tighter around the pale neck. Britain struggled, his gasps becoming more desperate as he fought to stay conscious, but his body was pinned down by France's.

"F-Franceaaah!" He said in a desperate, raspy voice that tore the Frenchman's heart. Britain's struggles became weaker as fire in his eyes dimmed and, with one last gasp, died away all together. The body beneath him went limp. France found himself in control again, ripping his hands away from the others neck violently, but it was to late. Britain's once bright eyes were now dull and lifeless and a last un-shed tear ran down his pale cheek. France buried his face in his hands, still trying process what he'd just done. Tears welled in the corners of his eyes as he let out a choked sob, taking the smaller body into his arms and hiding his face in the crook of the limp nations neck. Britain simply hung in his arms like a ragdoll.

"I'm s-so sor-ry, A-Angleterra." He whispered between sobs. He lifted his head and screamed, the one in his arms was no longer Britain, but it was Joanne. He almost dropped the body. Her face wore the same expression the Britans had, except her eyes were shut. She looked more like she had fallen asleep. It was all too much. France placed the body down and pulled himself out of the grave and landed chest first in a soft... red ground. He looked up to find that all the roses had changed from white to a ruby red.

...

France woke up screaming, his hands clutching his chest tightly. Where was he, what was he doing there, what had happened- he cried out as pair of arms enveloped his trembling figure. He tried to lash out, but the clasp was to tight. Suddenly, a familiar voice called his name, sounding both agitated and concerned.

"Bloody hell, will you calm down!" It said, but in a more soothing tone. France's breath steadied and he lifted his head from Britain's shoulder, he'd never been so happy to see that face.

"Seriously, what's wrong with you? You were tossing and turning and screaming and you wouldn't wake up! You actually scared me." Britain said. He scowled, but it wasn't his usual scowl, it was softer and more worried. France didn't answer, he simply held Britain tighter, as if the moment he loosened hids grip he would disappear. Suddenly, Britain pushed him away. France looked up, hurt and confused; Britain bowed his head, his hands knotted tightly together.

"Anglete-"

"It was about her, wasn't it." France paused, his head swam slightly. Britain looked up, his face was flushed as he waited for an answer. When no answer came, he chuckled.

"Of course you were." Tears pricked the corners of his eyes, threatening to break the barrier as he continued.

"I can't expect you not to, I no you love her more than me, I know you detest me for what I did and I know I can never make it up to you, I know that." France was completely speechless. He couldn't lie to Britain, he _did_ love Joanne, there _was_ a hole in his heart... but detest Britain, he didn't know.

"You may as well just stake me." Britain muttered, biting back a sob. He waited for an answer, but instead found himself lying on his back on the bed with France's lips covering his own. His eye's widened is surprise, but he soon felt himself melt into the kiss. It was sweet, no tongues, just a soft peck which was quite unlike the Frenchman. The kiss was broken and France buried his head into Britain's chest.

"Non, I could never hate you, never, jamais." He whispered, brushing the palm of his hand against the smaller nations cheek, only France knew that this soothed him. Immediately, Britains sobs became whimpers which soon faded away completely.

"But... I-" He tried to say, but France hushed him with another kiss.

"Je t'aime, Angleterra." Britain simply closed his eyes, savouring the words.

"I... love you."


End file.
